


Man of Broken Oaths

by halduronbrightwang



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Sex, Arthas is a bastard, Burning Crusade to Legion, Canon-Typical Violence, Disabled Character, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Trauma, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Injury Recovery, Inris is a bastard, M/M, Major Character Injury, Oral Sex, Original Character Death(s), PTSD, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, War, canon events, longfic, possible sex addiction, scourge invasion, unhealthy to healthy relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halduronbrightwang/pseuds/halduronbrightwang
Summary: All who joined the war, no matter their walk of life, had their own stories. It was no different for the wielder of the Ashbringer, who at one point was a lowly Blood Knight not welcome among his own kind.How far had he come, with every broken promise and broken oath along the way.





	1. Welcome to the order, Blood Knight

“Are you prepared to be looked down upon, misunderstood, and ostracized by your own brethren? Are you willing to maintain the discipline and the training that will be required of you, from this day forward?”

“Yes. Yes for every day since, and every day forward.”

“Welcome to the order, Blood Knight.”

.

The paladin opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, cobwebs hanging from the corners dangling down and catching the light from the windows.. He'd agreed to this. This was the path he chose, he was doing this to protect, save, and serve his kingdom but oh how his head pounded, as if to the beat of a war drum all too familiar, it sometimes made him regret it from time to time. The curtains in the room drew open, shining light in his eyes that made the steady pounding turn to a beating of shattering glass. 

Inris rolled over in the cot, groaning just as much as the other new recruits who complained at the other who went about the room, shaking them awake, tugging off blankets, and even dragging those still sleeping off their cots and onto the floor. 

“Get up! We have work to do and you all are no exception!”

The older knight growled, clinging to his pillow and the body next to him, grumbling he would need a minute before he could even compose himself enough to open his eyes again. Still, that horrendous man held no mercy for anyone, grabbing his ankle and tugging both him and Allir from the shared cot. 

“If you miss the morning rounds again, you will be tossed on the street with the others who failed to uphold the order.”

The man moved on, tugging others from bed to wake them for today’s training. Allir grumbled as well, disturbed from his only chance to get away from the headaches. As it was, they were on their last chances to earn their keep within the order. The last incursion into the Ghostlands ended with Inris himself fleeing a skeletal elf in terror and cowering behind a tree. Allir struggled to cast any useful healing spells at all; even a simple scrape was too difficult before the headaches got the better of him and left him a whimpering mess, clutching his head in pain. 

Gathering his clothes the raven haired elf dressed himself and donned his tabard, smoothing the inky black fabric across his broad chest with pride. Even if he wasn't talented, like the matriarch of the order, Lady Liadrin, he did have one thing going for him: Inris was stubborn as a mule. Inris had nowhere else to go since a scourge had ripped apart family when he was an apprentice and the initial attack destroyed his home, forever lost to the dead scar. No family, no job, no life other than simply existing. Inris never could have lived with that. In fact, if it weren't for Allir, he probably wouldn't have. The man found him scrambling about Murder Row, begging anyone and everyone for arcane crystals and bloodthistle while skimping out on paying back his dealer those months ago. He sat on the cot, waiting for his partner to dress himself as he stumbled about with his eyes nearly closed to block the light. Allir saved his life, paying off the crystal dealer with the last of his savings. Despite that, at first Inris felt nothing but contempt for the man taking pity of all things upon him. How dare he! How dare a man who also snuck crystals in, tucked safely under his belt away from where anyone but him would dare to look, pity another so desperate.

Inris chewed his lip, flaking off the dry and cracked skin. He'd need another crystal today, or bloodthistle if he could scrounge up the money for it. He checked his pouch, but he only had a few measly copper left and his last dealer had left with half an ear missing by the time Allir was done with him so that was out of the question. None other that Inris knew he could afford wouldn’t even give him a passing glance before turning and going the other direction. No doubt word traveled fast. He approached the man who warmed his bed the previous night and tugged on his belt, pulling him close and whispering words the other recruits would be horrified at the unsubtly of their filth in his ear.

Allir hummed, wrapping his trunk-like arm around the younger and whispered back to meet him in the ruins of Farstrider Square. With a stride in his step knowing he would have his fix for the day, Inris tracked down his group's instructor, saying he and Allir would handle the errands of getting their supplies for the day. The instructor looked at him with suspicion, but Allir came and confirmed they would go to the Farstriders and get the day's rations. Giving both a stern look, the instructor handed a small bag of coins over and told them to be back within two hours, seemingly satisfied with the more responsible of them having confirmed Inris’ request.

Two whole hours! That was long enough to skip the morning’s meditation and reciting the vow of the order, which he found so dreadfully boring there were multiple instances he'd actually fallen asleep. Successful in the effort of getting out of part of training and getting what he wanted, Inris strode down the hall with Allir in tow. The brown haired elf rolled his eyes as he followed the younger paladin in training.

“You can't get out of it forever, you know. Lady Liadrin will eventually make sure you've drilled every bit of your lessons into your head before you're allowed to go off on your own.” He called after him but Inris just scoffed in response: He already knew all he would need to. 

“Ah yes, you've learned everything you possibly could about the Blood Knights and what we do as the son of a tailor. I see now, that makes perfect sense.” Allir boasted, catching up to Inris and placing a hand on his shoulder and motioning to the crumbling building around them. “You'll restore not only the Sunwell, but all of Quel’thalas to its former glory with your knowledge of textiles!”

Inris shoved the man off of him playfully. Allir shoved back with a grin plastered on his face and soon the two were wasting their precious time away from training chasing one another down the crumbling hall along the way to Farstrider Square and half heartedly sparring hand to hand. Upon reaching the square, blocking out the looks of the few farstriders handing out rations from a hawkstrider drawn cart, they were completely out of breath. The ration line was long with civilians, most of them either quite young or the few elderly who hadn't died in the scourge invasion. Both blood knights decided it would be best to wait until the most of them would move on to avoid the heckling. 

Inris tapped Allir on the shoulder and waved to an abandoned shop that’s boarded up windows would leave anyone inside out of sight. Allir put a hand on his belt, turning it inside out slightly to show the small arcane crystals at the other, who nodded. It would be a perfect spot and no one would be the wiser. Inside, the shop was dusty and faintly smelled of mold from lack of use and the rain last week as dust motes floated through the air in the sun shafts between the cracked boards. Aside from the rats scurrying around the papers and broken furniture scattered around the floor, Inris swore it looked like a painting. A grim, depressing painting, but a work of art nonetheless. 

Allir broke him from his distraction by grabbing his waist and whispering the dirty things he'd whispered to him this morning back, laying a kiss to the nape of his neck and burying his face in the long mane of hair tied into a horse tail at the back of his head. Inris turned around as the fellow knight asked aloud where he managed to find the luxurious shampoo that made his hair smell like blossoms only to be shushed as Inris undid the clasp on his belt. Allir read the situation wrong, however, moving to take the man into another kiss.

“No,” Inris stopped him. “Crystals first, that was the deal.” Allir seemed disappointed but the other hardly cared if he had affections for him, if he knew he was being used or not, Allir had what he wanted as good looking as he was, pleasures of the flesh were not what Inris was after. For now, anyway. As the other man handed over a crystal Inris immediately snatched it up and pressed it into his palms tightly to absorb all the crisp energy he could from it in a single moment. The feeling was absolutely intoxicating. Days of restraining himself were thrown out the window as the room spun from the sheer force of relief that at first tensed his whole body and then quickly soothed away the pain. The hollowness. The empty feeling in his gut that could only be filled by pure magic, a lack therefore of making him feel as though he’d been starved.

Letting out an almost erotic sigh, he leaned back and let himself slide down the once elegant plastered wall to the floor. Allir merely watched as he rolled himself a bloodthistle cigarette between his fingers. Inris could feel the man judging him again. Pity be damned, that was what irritated him about Allir the most. Was he not also using those wondrous little arcane crystals himself? To sate his own needs? 

Inris laughed, not so loud to be heard outside the shop, and chucked the now useless crystal shard to clatter against the opposing wall. It was empty and dead, now simply another grim and dull piece of trash among the others littering the floor. 

“What? What is it that makes you think you're above me here? It was your idea in the first place; to sneak those blasted things in the barracks was it not?” He ran his hands through his hair and grinned like a smug snake at the other knight as he continued to speak. “You're just as pitiful as I am, you just won't admit it. You're too proud. Proud like we all are, so arrogantly so even as we act like vultures fighting over a carcass for a drop or two of magic.”

\-----

Allir paid no mind to his rambling as Inris was always like this. A hypocrite, through and through, talking about him being too proud while sucking the energy from crystals to the point he would hardly function but never admit it. The other man worried for him, more often than the man seemed to realize. He was on a dangerous path- Inris could very well turn wretched with his mana consumption. Any day now, even. Allir thought vouching for him to join the Blood Knights, who'd become much more strict on how many crystals they were allowed to have since Galell’s death, would do him some good but perhaps not. Even Allir himself couldn't resist Inris’ tempting words of sneaking off to use. Nevermind the crystals and sweet smoke of bloodthistle, Inris himself, he was like a drug all on his own.

The black haired man got up from the floor and put his hands on Allir’s knees, leaning so close to his face he could smell the magic on him- he must have been standing on his toes to reach- by the Sunwell, it was tempting. Not the magic, but Inris himself. Surely the man knew how much he taunted and teased, he probably did it on purpose just to get another hit. It worked too, it always worked. Allir ran a finger down Inris’ glove, tracing the red lines in the black plate with idle appreciation for the craftsmanship. Liadrin spent no expense in making sure they were all armored well, even if the methods of doing such were morally questionable but these were desperate times.

Inris placed a hand on Allir’s cheek, turning his head to face him with that smug smile of his creeping across his face, bringing the man out of his thoughts. He even so dared as to pluck the cigarette from his hands and take a long drag himself, blowing the smoke only slightly away from the brunettes face like the bastard he was but Allir couldn't help it; he loved this stupid game they played ever since he dragged him out of the gutter. 

Inris moved closer, his nose brushing against Allir’s so gently and teasingly that the touch was almost the ghost of a feeling upon his skin, he brushed his hands through the other's short cropped hair like that of a lover and laid the most sweet of kisses upon his lips like no harlot ever could. Despite knowing he was being used to fuel his addiction, to skip out on training, to satisfy Inris’ own ego, how could he turn away? Allir needed this, to be touched, feel wanted, to bask in pleasures even if they were fake. There was little chance of getting that genuinely now with how the public looked down upon them for doing what needed to be done, not unless he wished to lie with another of the order, and many times now it had been proven futile to try. He sighed as Inris ran his hand down the front of his breastplate and brushed aside the tabard that had been pinned down at his waist by his belt. He was right, they were too proud. Too proud to admit even that they were, still thinking they dominated over all others despite the facts: their kingdom lie in ruin, their prince off who knows where seeking out some promised land he had yet to deliver proof of existing, that their very people had split apart at the orders of their Regent, further worsening the problem of their tiny population.

As his mind swam in the worries of these troubling times, Inris did his best to bring the other man back from his distraction by suddenly and quite roughly palming the man’s crotch. Allir snapped to attention after that, glowering at him a moment before sighing at the now gentle rubbing that was lessened by the armor. The way he licked his lips before taking another drag of the bloodthistle quite obviously was seductive on purpose, but that need and want, only enhanced by the drug, spoke louder to him than any qualms about satisfying it in someone else’s boarded up shop with people right outside. 

Allir couldn’t help himself as he undid the clasps on Inris’ belt and tossed it to the floor, pulled his tabard over the elf’s head and messed up his sweetly shampooed hair, pulled his gloves off to be tossed with the armor both were quickly shedding. Despite the early morning chill they stripped down to nothing, taking in one another’s body heat as all they needed in their embrace. Allir’s arms wrapped around Inris’ smaller frame as he kissed up and down the man’s throat, relishing in the way his adam's apple bobbed with his quiet moans. He grabbed firmly at his ass and kneaded his palms into it as the other stroked his cock to attention, grinding on him with his own. As it was getting to be too much and release drew close Inris backed away, teasing with faint touches to Allir’s knee of all places, beckoning the man to come closer. He couldn’t resist, getting off the broken desk to push the other against the cracked wall and hoist him up. Inris stopped him as he was about to kiss him again by pressing a finger to his lips. 

“I don’t have any oil, or anything to use in it’s place.” 

“Can you not use spit instead?” He asked, the finger still pressed to his lips but his response was not favorable, not at all. Allir just wanted to satisfy his own needs, just as Inris did. 

Inris looked at him as if he’d gone mad. 

“I’m no savage, so no.” 

Considering the many things Allir had seen Inris do out of desperation, no matter the kind, that was easily debatable. 

He put the man down again, yet he sank to his knees and rubbed his hands up and down Allir’s toned legs in a way that caused him to shiver. Allir knew what was coming next, so he took the cigarette from Inris when he held it up while fondling his balls gently and shot him a look as if to ask if moving forward was okay- the only time he ever did. 

Allir nodded as he flicked the ash aside, careful to keep it clear of the papers on the floor. They were trying to be secret about this after all, starting a fire would do no good for that. Inris’ long fingers brushed against his taint ever so slowly that he was just about to snap at him to get on with it when his soft and supple lips wrapped around the head of his cock and tongue swirled around it. Clamping a hand over his mouth to keep quiet, Allir watched Inris work. Their eyes met, and he swore that even with a cock in his mouth the other was attempting to give him that smug smile as he sucked down more and more, then backed up only to do so again. Inris watched his reactions the whole time, even as his eyes fluttered closed now and again from the pleasure as it built up again, every time he looked down he saw the piercing gaze the other man gave him. Unlike before, there was no kindness in his eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that the other man was on his knees, Allir may have even felt intimidated by the sheer intensity of the look. Inris’ eyes had all the softness of shattered glass and his ears were pinned back like that of a snarling lynx.

Allir knew he was playing into just what Inris wanted the whole time but morals be damned, it was just too much of what he needed to pass up. Inris must of been stroking himself off with the hand not wrapped around the base of his own cock because Inris moaned and the vibrations were enough to send Allir over the edge within a few minutes of that. He knew enough by now not to apologize, Inris just simply spat the milky white come onto the floor without a word and wiped his mouth after finishing himself off. Heat drawing closer to his fingers reminded him about the cigarette he was too distracted to finish. What a waste, he thought, as he stamped it out against the wall until the burning embers were no more but a black mark. 

They dressed in silence and Allir made sure to count the crystals to be absolutely positive Inris hadn't swiped any when he wasn't looking but all were accounted for, aside the one he used earlier. Climbing over the broken furniture the way they'd come in, Inris kissed him on the cheek quickly before heading out into the light. Allir couldn't help but roll his eyes, it was as fake as the rest of his ‘affectionate’ gestures were. There weren't even any others around for him to fool, honestly, it would have been easier if he just dropped the act already, but both knew that it was not only others the raven haired man was trying to trick, but Allir himself. To make him feel wanted, so much so that he would not back away. 

Allir had to admit to himself that it was working, oh how horribly so, that he was falling into Inris’ manipulations exactly as he had planned.


	2. Caught

Day in and day out remained the same of training, studies, and grueling work. Be it assisting the city with repairs or hauling bodies; elven and scourge alike to be burned, there was always something that needed doing. After their little escapade and returning late with the rations it was Inris who got stuck cleaning the training ring of blood while Allir went out to build a funeral pyre for the fallen knight who'd been slain. A pity, some of the others had called it, but Inris couldn't fathom how or why. This was the world they lived in now, one where the weak were cut down. He'd rather be killed like this; taken out in battle against his comrades to prove his strength than by an undead monstrosity like those of which that wandered the countryside. Inris thought briefly on what he'd do in such a situation wherein it was possible he could become one of them. A mace would be difficult to bash his own skull in, slitting his own throat would have to do. The scourge didn't seem to think, so at least he wouldn't have to contemplate his own undeath at all.

Perhaps he was wrong though, maybe he would be trapped, staring out through his own eyes and unable to even scream of his own will should he rise up again. It truly would be the worst kind of hell indeed. Returning to his cleaning, he mopped up the pool of blood on the ground when a pair of feet ended his field of view. Thinking it to be one of the other knights, or perhaps Allir, he snapped about how busy he was before looking up and seeing who the one standing directly in the way actually was.

Snapping at the figure was a mistake, for Liadrin herself stood before him and she looked cross as ever. 

\----

“Explain to me-” Inris stared at the ground of the secluded corner of the building the Blood Knights called home. He didn’t dare look her in the eyes, for he feared the anger he knew without a doubt he would see in them would erupt his body into flames with the force of a thousand suns. Though once she had been a high priest of the light, even the deepest pits of hell held nowhere near the fury that she had once she got going; and the contents of the pouch she held in her hands had absolutely tipped her over the edge. “-just what on earth you were planning doing with these?” 

She held the pouch in front of his face, as if he were a dog getting his nose rubbed in a puddle of piss it’d left on the floor. Whatever effect she was trying to get at, other than making the cowardly man stare at the floor, was lost upon him as the magic held inside the lynx leather bag only called out to him the more and more she waved it around. Liadrin’s anger deflated as she pressed her fingers to her temples with a sigh and for the first time Inris looked up at her. She was disheveled, obviously from the stress of running the Blood Knight Order already, finding his stash only added to it. Try as she might to hide it he could see the faded circles under her eyes and sallow look to her skin. Even Liadrin was not immune to the effects of the plight they all shared.

“-After the great recommendation that Allir had put in for you, I had hoped you better than… this.” Even she pitied him. How positively wonderful. Liadrin set the pouch down on a dusty side table- one that had been neglected to be cleaned in the past few weeks due to the recent movement of the Amani forcing all to relinquish their cleaning duties in favor of something actually useful- and turned to the younger elf with a look of obvious sadness, concern, and worst of all pity. In all honesty, he would have prefered it if she was disgusted with him and threw him out to the street. But Liadrin was not that kind of person, she was once a priestess. She held compassion for her people deep within her and the need to protect them at all cost; that was why the order existed at all in the first place. 

Inris had learned of what befell Galell only second hand; Bachi had told him in hushed tones over lunch when not only him, but the whole order had heard of the body strung above the gate and Galell’s mysterious disappearance following their matriarch’s sullen mood for the weeks following. Since then, she’d made sure to keep track of precisely how much and how often her charges fed on magic to prevent another such… tragedy, he supposed would be what others would call it. Liadrin’s ears pinned back when she realized her words were not getting through to the man in the least as he began to stare at the floor once again.

“Inris, do you remember the oath you took upon joining the order?” She asked, once again resting her hand on his shoulder, and ducking down to make him look at her. He hated that with all his being, people wanting to help him. Begrudgingly, he answered.

“Yes. I do. And it remains the same as I said then, from now and every day forward.” 

Still, she took it upon herself to repeat part of the oath all who came to the order had taken. “Are you willing to maintain the discipline and the training that will be required of you, from this day forward?” She motioned to the bag that made the pangs worsen just by its proximity. “This, this is not discipline. There are enough crystals in here to hold over the entirety of the order, perhaps more.” She drew a breath, composing herself. The death of her friend had shaken her, even with the time that had passed. 

“I know you have no formal training as a warrior; which makes this especially important. Without discipline, we are no better than the wretched. We cannot protect and serve our people if we cannot do the same for ourselves.” 

Why, why, why did she even bother to take the time to speak to him, like that of a child being scolded by a parent? Emboldened by his anger, Inris glared at her and spat his words. 

“You’d make an excellent mother, my lady, you talk to me as if I’m a mere babe.” The look of disappointment that crossed her face was what he was looking for. That was much more like it, the disgust he sought others to feel for him as he did himself. Discouraged, Liadrin simply shook her head and departed, saying that they would speak again later. He’d hoped she would have forgotten the pouch of crystals, but unfortunately so, she did not. All she left him were the few she decided he did need and would throughout the rest of the day. Hopefully, by the next morning, she would relinquish more to him.


	3. We all play a part

Inris couldn’t help but notice the cloud of dust that flew in the air as he was thrown over the table and his lip curled in disgust even as deft hands were removing his legplates. This room hadn’t had any sort of attention in months, hence the reason he often came here, but how far it had gone was for the first time evident. Allir kissed the nape of his neck and his hands slid under Inris’s tabard and up his sides, making his skin twitch. Allir laughed slightly, his smile felt against Inris’s skin but he couldn’t concentrate on the man’s touches. He was out of focus, instead watching a spider crawl across the desk and over a loose strand of his hair as it continued on, ignoring them both. 

Inris only snapped out of it when he felt Allir’s weight shift off of him and instead feel his cock slide over his ass, making him sigh. Without warning Inris rolled over and kicked Allir in the chest, just under the ribs, pushing the man off of him. Allir grunted in pain as Inris was still wearing his boots and rubbed what was sure to be a foot shaped bruise in a few hours, glaring wordlessly at the smaller man who now propped himself up on his elbows, looking at him expectantly. 

“Well?” Inris asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“...The hell was that for, Inris?” Allir snapped back. 

“Fuck me like you mean it, damnit. I’m going to fall asleep at this rate.” Inris looked aside, eyeing a long since fallen apart chair at the corner of the room until Allir’s shadow crossed over him. He lifted his leg, once more pressing the sole of his boot into the man’s chest. Allir leaned forward anyway until Inris’ knee was pressed into his own chest and grabbed his wrists, pinning them at the sides of his head. 

“You want me to be rough?” Allir asked him in a husky voice, more a statement than a question. 

“If you’ve got to fuck me until this table falls apart, do it.” Allir took it as a challenge, squeezing Inris’ wrists tightly but all it got out of him was Inris narrowing his eyes for a moment. Inris tipped back his head and Allir’s mouth was there immediately, sucking and biting hard. The moment he let go of one of his wrists his hand popped the top on a bottle of oil and he slicked his fingers, soon slipping one in Inris’s ass. Inris watched him, his free hand in his own hair and propping up his head. Allir slipped in another and Inris sighed lightly, waiting for him to get it over with. He scissored his fingers roughly and pumped them in and out, biting on Inris’ neck all the while. He couldn’t help the sharp inhale when he replaced his fingers with his cock and snapped his hips forward- after all Inris told him to be rough. To make him feel it. Despite Inris’ foot on his chest Allir was soon pounding into him, making the table creak and groan in protest. 

“Hnng, that’s more like it.” His words were a low rumble in his throat barely heard over the slap of flesh on flesh, Allir chuckled darkly into the side of his neck, kissing a hickey rising to the surface of his paler skin and stood up, running a hand through his hair that had fallen out of place and into his eyes. He kept relentlessly pounding into Inris and made his back arch when he brushed over his sweet spot, doing everything in his power to hit it again and again. Allir’s hands moved to his hips and pulled Inris to meet his every thrust, surely his hips were going to be bruised. It made the raven haired elf moan loudly, his arm covering his eyes. Inris pushed Allir away again only to wrap his legs around Allir’s waist and his thrusts were only that much more powerful, actually making him slide on the table until Allir gripped him harder and pinned him down. Not satisfied, Allir pulled out and Inris was about to snap at him when the room spun; Allir turned him over and without warning shoved himself back in without mercy, relentlessly pounding into him,

Inris’s nails dug into the wood of the table, he clenched his teeth between gasping moans, his shoulders tensed and untensed beyond his control. Allir’s teeth scraped his skin where neck met shoulder and he bit down, making the whole area cramp up and the pain was delicious. He couldn’t stop the shout from tearing its way out of his throat when Allir’s calloused hand stroked his cock at a brisk pace without nearly enough oil. He loved every second, even knowing the next morning would be painful rolling out of bed and his back stiff, he needed more and more until all too soon it was over. 

His own come was splattered on the side of the table, Allir’s dripping down his leg and his ass, the large man resting his head between Inris’ shoulders and panting. Inris’ own chest was heaving from the force of his orgasm. He was exhausted, fairly sure his shoulder was bleeding from how hard Allir bit him, and at some point the man had scratched his hips with his nails. With a loud groan as his back popped back into place Inris sat up and wiped himself off with his shirt, tossing it at Allir to do the same and looked over the damage done. Bruises were already all over his hips and wrists, looking more like he’d been shackled down which may as well have been the case with how large Allir’s hands were. His neck was tender and likely the same. As he pulled his pants back on, Allir had been off duty and dressed in his day clothes, he laughed. 

“Why do you look so sour? I gave you what you wanted.” He smirked and sat, deliberately out of what surely would be a stain on the table, slinging an arm over Inris’ shoulders, making him wince. Inris couldn’t help the exhaustion as he leaned into him, gently as not to aggravate his already present wounds. 

“I wanted you to fuck me, not tear me apart, asshole.” He jabbed him in the ribs but as always it had no effect on the man. Allir just laughed and threaded his fingers in Inris’ hair while he pouted. 

“But you liked it, didn’t you?” There was genuine concern in his voice, but Inris couldn’t understand why there would be at all. Either way, he answered. 

“Oh of course, but you’re going to have to treat me like a glass vase for a week at least.” His statement had Allir howling with laughter, even after Inris had long since gotten dressed and left to take a hot bath to ease his aching joints.

\----

“-It is you chosen few, who have risen through the ranks that I, Lady Liadrin, Matriarch of the Blood Knights, bestow upon you your new weapons signifying your courage, dedication, and persistence through all odds to protect our kingdom and eliminate the scourge menace and all others that threaten our well being. Rise, my blood knights, and claim victory, for Quel’thalas!” The years that had come saw many come and go through the order and set off throughout Silvermoon to do just that. The rousing speech was met with cheers and an echo of her final words: For Quel’thalas! No longer did any more than the rangers look down upon them as badly as before, as they marched through the street upon the gilded armored horses, with scorn or contempt. Some civilians, mostly the younger ones among them, even congratulated the knights personally on their success. 

Another day, another ruined town cleared of the rotting undead that had decayed into little more than brittle skeletons with only rags of clothing left clinging to their bodies. Inris rolled his eyes at the extravagant ceremony celebrating the newest full fledged knights’ ascension into full time protectors of Silvermoon. He was about to turn and make a quip about it to Allir, who sat beside him on his own steed with his eyes forward as a mage woman passed by. It was not her beauty that captured his attention, though she certainly was beautiful and no doubt he was not the only one who made passing glances at her as she waltzed by, but the amulet hanging from her neck. 

Inris could feel the magic emanating from it even at this distance. To all other’s knowledge, he’d been cut off from much of his crystal supply months ago but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He was a mana fiend through and through, all the way to the bone. To have a crystal with such an ample supply so close, to have that need almost within reach but the need for formalities and professionalism acting like chains binding him down, it pained the man so. The way he stared did not go unnoticed and Allir nudged him, forcing him to turn his eyes back to the ceremony.

“You know as well as I you’re not staring at her rear, don’t even think about it.” The raven haired man huffed but passed a final look at the mage- fire mage, he was guessing, based on the flame shaped pins in her hair, catching her eye. She pouted her lips a moment and winked as she sat on a bench nearby. Though he hated stooping to such measures with women, they never suited his tastes, Inris’ head pounded and sweat had been growing on his brow for the past several hours. If it meant getting what he wanted, he would do so. 

As soon as they were dismissed, Inris sought the woman out. She was still sitting on the bench, waiting for him he presumed, and he began to go through the motions. ‘Beautiful woman such as yourself, blah blah blah, may I interest you in a walk, blah blah blah’, and so on until she gave him her hand. A fake smile and a kiss on her ring, he gave her a wink, to which she chuckled. Only a few more moments of this, and moving off to a private place, he would soon have that almost intoxicating magic that his body cried out for. Victory was not within reach, as a certain arse of a man interrupted. 

“-Excuse me, ma’am, but may I borrow my friend here a moment? I don’t wish to intrude on your morning, but I must have a word with him in private. Blood Knight matters, if you will.” Allir gave her a deep bow as he grabbed Inris by the arm and just about dragged him away. As soon as they were out of earshot, he dropped the charming act and glowered at his partner. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” He snapped.

“Merely playing the part, just as you were.” Inris replied, causing Allir to curse. 

“You’re just trying to get another fix and we both know it. Don’t you dare try and lie to me- I can read you like a book.” Rolling his eyes so far back he swore that he could see the inside of his skull, Inris crossed his arms over his chest and stared the other man down. 

“-Well, as it so would be, if someone has stopped suiting my needs, I go elsewhere.” 

The mage woman hopped into the conversation, saying that it was clear they were busy and perhaps she would run into the two gentlemen again sometime. How unfortunate, now he would have to seek out a different method. The dealers on Murder Row acted as if he didn’t exist as of late; a particular rumor having been spread how the elf always failed to pay his debts had circulated and none wished to even give him the time of day. Inris had the suspicion that Allir had something to do with that, or perhaps Cyssa. Yes, it was more likely to be her, now that he thought about it. Ever since Galell, she’d been quite sensitive to anyone who went too far. 

What especially irritated him was that it was never he who decided how much was too much, how far was too far, or anything of the sort. Inris felt fine for several hours after he used the crystals and he hadn’t tried anything such as jabbing them under his skin because he needed more. When he did need more and more magic, he simply used more every time was all, there was nothing wrong with that. Still, the others insisted. Allir watched him like a hawk even amid his own usage of the crystals and he’d been chewed out by Liadrin, Solanar, Amazil, Bloodwrath, Vyathana, Cyssa.... Everyone in the order, he realized, counting off names in his head. Inris rounded a corner and then turned down another alley, hoping to confuse Allir and get him off his back, but there was no such luck. 

“What were you, a ranger?” He finally snapped at him. Allir’s answer surprised him.

“A guard, actually.”

A former guard, who joined the Blood Knights? It was absurd. Inris rolled his eyes and continued his march on home knowing that there was no possible way for him to shake the other man. He’d simply wait him out, until he was asleep and sneak out in the dead of night. That too, failed miserably. Upon arriving to the hall, Solanar informed them there was a group of Scourge spotted by the Farstriders headed for the ruins, but with how thinly stretched the Farstriders were, they were unable to deal with the threat themselves other than slowing them down.


	4. Shellshocked

Hoofbeats thundered down the road, all available blood knights rushing to reach the other side of the city before the scourge. Though few dared to go there alone, be it fear or haunting memories of the recent years that kept them away, the gate would not be enough to hold back the undead for long. 

The shambling herd turned at the noise, coming straight for the group with rotting arms outreached, grasping and clawing at the air as they charged forward. Inris drew his bladed mace, funneling the power of the light through it despite the sounds of grinding glass and screams in his mind and swung. As his steed barreled forward he almost didn't see the monster's head rip off as the connecting tissues tore like wet paper and the head soared across the plaza. Similarly the other knights took action, leaping into the fray with weapons drawn and spells on their lips. 

He tried to refrain from looking at their faces; not the blood knights, but the undead, even as they gnawed and chewed at his armor. 

“Behind you!” 

Inris whirled around, a blow that if hit would surely cave in the skull of the creature that thought it could get the best of him but the mace never made contact, falling from his hands. Painful, excruciating images flooded his mind. A textile worker, from his days working for the old weaver on the other side of Eversong, who spun the most wondrous of runecloth. There was a time the elf’s face wasn't sunken in with decay and maggots weren't spilling from her mouth. Inris shuddered, frozen with fear. No, no it was supposed to be him that day. He dropped his weapon, stumbling backward over the body of another scourge and fell to the ground. It was supposed to be him, with his head rolling from the wound nearly to the bone, broken limbs from the panicked crowd that trampled anyone in the way as they made their escape. He was never meant to survive that, just as she-

The dead elf’s body jerked as a sword skewered the chest cavity and poured rotting blood over him as it was withdrawn. Within seconds her head was rolling on the ground and the body limp and lifeless as it should have been from the start. Whoever had saved him from a gruesome death stood above Inris, asking him something, but he heard nothing. He saw nothing either, even with his eyes wide, falling prey to the flashbacks.

\-----

Allir shook the younger man, trying to snap him out of it but to no avail. He called for his companions, stepping aside as one of the newer ones to the order, Vya, checked Inris for injury. Though he found none it was as if Inris was paralyzed, unmoving and muttering as the paladins crowded around him. What else could they do, other than load him onto his horse and bring him back to the hall?

Vya and his wife, though Allir couldn't recall her name, tried their best to snap the man out of it. What was the word he used? Shellshocked. That was what Vyathna said it was; waking nightmares, flashbacks, bouts of panic when the victim was distressed, and Inris fit the bill well. He hardly slept through the night or kept from doing it at all but now it made sense to him. Inris was placed down on an open cot and stripped of his armor, at least so he could lay quietly while he snapped back but Allir still worried as he watched him shake like a leaf in the wind, muttering about a day long since passed to thin air. Even though he was lying on his side, facing away from all others in the room it was clear as day every muscle in his body was tensed like a drawn bowstring. Allir could do no more to help him but leave Inris be and hope that by morning, he would have snapped out of it like he often did a few hours after his nighterrors. Exhausted from the day's work, Allir tossed down his armor in a heap and didn't even bother to strip out of his day clothes before laying down in his own bed with a final look to Inris, turned away from him and shaking.

It took days, close to two weeks, before Inris recovered. Other than relieving himself and being forced to eat, he never left the cot, never changed, and only bathed when absolutely forced to. He seemed completely broken during that time, but signs of Inris’ personality began to come back in pieces as he regained composure. First, as anyone expected, was his anger. He would lash out at anyone who tried to assist him by hitting, slapping, and snapping at them before quickly breaking down again and refusing to speak for days. Some days the man seemed fine, as if nothing had happened, then others he was little more than a rag doll moved about by anyone who found the need to. Soon enough after he started talking again Inris had climbed into bed with Allir, the warmth at his side dearly missed as opposed to flinching away when anyone moved to touch him even just to brush his hair off of his shoulder. Allir still worried for him, because even if Inris tried to hide it or claim he wasn’t ill he could feel the way he trembled at his side, tucked under his arm and head on his chest. 

Allir had been getting ready for bed, his usual nightly routine left over from being a guard for so many years. Recounting his belongings and checking them off in his journal, double checking the amount of arcane crystals he kept tucked away before safely tucking the hidden pouch under the cot’s mattress. Allir was such a large man that it was nearly impossible for anyone else to get it when he was sleeping on top of it, most importantly Inris, who had a well known reputation among the dealers as a thief. Despite the routine’s importance to him, Allir’s worry for the other came first. He stoked Inris’ hair out of his face, noting in his mind how greasy it had become from his lack of bathing. Perhaps in the morning he’d drag him to the baths with him and maybe the company would ease his clearly shaken mind. It wasn’t long before Inris was asleep, drooling on Allir’s chest. As gross as that was, Allir let him.

In the morning he was awoken by shouting, and not that of an elder blood knight waking those that had slept in. No, shouting for Inris to drop something and him screaming for the others to get away erupted from the hall along with the sounds of a fight. Allir shot out of bed and darted to the scene, where Inris swung a tall candlestick wildly to keep the others at bay. His arm was bleeding with what looked like at crystal shoved in the wound and his eyes were so bright they almost looked white.

Guilt overcame the man as he, despite the candlestick smacking him in the head, tackled his partner to the ground and ripped out the crystal from his arm. Inris screamed, both agony and anger, thrashing like at him wild animal as he was pinned to the musty floor. In his hand was Allir’s belt, the secret pouch devoid of the crystals. Allir had forgotten to tuck it under his pillow the night before but he should have seen it coming that Inris would have immediately gone for it once he was asleep; as this wasn't the first time he'd done so.

The man screamed, clawing and even snapping his teeth at them as someone casted a healing spell and desperately tried to cleanse Inris of the magic flooding his veins. Inris continued to fight and threw a low blow, forcing Allir off of him. As he tried to run, Vyathna slammed him into the wall with a blow to the stomach using the hilt of his blade. That was the end of that, as Inris slumped over him and vomited up the rest of the missing crystals. That answered the question of where the rest of them were, that was for sure, but brought up many more including whether or not Inris was trying to kill himself.

Allir didn't agree with the measures the others took to restrain him, tying his hands down to the cot so he couldn't lash out again or try something to hurt himself. It took multiple cleansings before Inris finally calmed down from anger and burst into tears. He sobbed that none of them were meant to live, that Galell had the right idea to end his own life before it was taken by scourge. This angered Liadrin, who’d rushed down from her own chambers to see what the commotion was and the elder blood knights who refused to even deal with him past that point, instead leaving Inris to be dealt with by Allir, Vyathna, and his wife, Amazil as if it was a simple chore and not the life of one of their own in their hands. Allir couldn't blame them too much for it, however, especially Liadrin. Galell had been her friend and he was beginning to suspect she had feelings for him, which only made Inris’ words even worse as he screamed and shouted that the man was right, right to try and take all of them down with him.

Allir put his head in his hands. “I shouldn't have left them out, he'd taken them before, the last time I did…” He groaned. Amazil rubbed his shoulder, saying there was no way he could have known for sure; the last they'd seen him he was still in shock. His misery turned to anger at Inris and he shouted for the man to stop his howling cries. Inris only began to laugh maniacally that they'd all be dead soon enough, how he couldn't wait for the day.

“Stop it! No one is dying!” Inris continued to laugh. 

“We’ll all die someday, the sooner the better!”

“Stop it!”

The doors swung open, and Champion BloodValor delivered even worse news: as soon as Inris was well enough both him and Allir were to leave the order and not return until they could hold it together. The way that Inris howled with laughter they'd be dead for sure was proof enough he never would recover enough to be of use to them again. Allir shouted at them all, Bloodvalor, Amazil, Vyathna, and most of all Inris. This was his life, his dream since that horrid day the city fell to actually do something that mattered, and that doped up stain upon Azeroth ripped it from his hands and shattered it thanks to his outburst.

Despite begging, pleading, offering anything and everything he had there was nothing that would convince them otherwise. It was his fault and his alone that Inris had gotten those crystals, ones Allir wasn't even supposed to have in the first place, and it nearly got him killed, either by trying to turn himself wretched or forcing the other knights to put him down. It was only a matter of days before Allir found himself on the street, curled up next to a mailbox awaiting a letter from what little family he had in Dalaran to answer. The postman shook his head at Allir when he came, depositing the inn's other letters in the box.

“Sorry Allir, they said they won’t take mail from Blood Elves.” The mail carrier’s ears drooped down in pity for the elf, shaking his head. He knew long ago that his brethren who decided to take exile instead of join their people would never respond. More than likely, they just burned the letter without even bothering to read it. 

Dejected due to his last hope being crushed, he went inside and up the stairs to the room neither him or Inris could afford, Allir’s legs felt like lead weights. What was he to do? He was penniless, now homeless, and stuck with that miserable cretin who cost him his future.

Said sack of filth was sprawled across the bed, smoking from a cheap hookah with a young elf that was much too innocent for the filth Inris was. 

“Out.” He pointed to the scantily clad elf and then the door.

“We're just having some fun-”

“Get out, before he ruins your life. You have no business with a disgusting man like him. Besides, you'll probably catch a disease, he hasn't bathed in weeks.” The other made a disgusted face and left, telling them they could keep the hookah, leaving anything else he’d brought with him as well. Inris tossed a ratty pillow at Allir as he took a drag on what was left of the bloodthistle inside.

“You lying pig, I took one just this morning.” 

Allir shoved him off of his bed to the floor, covering himself with the blanket. “Did you really? Or did you just sit there in the water for hours until I dragged you from the tub?” The other man snorted, hitting him as he walked by to the other bed in the room and sat with a huff. 

“If you truly hate me so, why do you bother staying with me?” Allir rolled his eyes. It was this again, he always asked whenever they fought.

“Because if I leave you, you brainless moron, you'll do something to hurt yourself again.” Inris denied it, but this week alone he'd already tried to start a fight with another paladin at the inn for coming in ‘his’ space. The man thought he owned all of Silvermoon with how he told others to leave no matter where he was, threatening to pummel them like some kind of goblin mafia boss. It was laughable, especially given how much weight the man had lost he probably couldn’t even shake down a child. “You're lucky,” Allir began, rolling over so he wouldn't have to look at him. “You're pretty enough you can get anything you want by batting your eyelashes a few times and saying a few sweet words.”

“Oh I can do more than that.”

“I hope it destroys you, you know. Now let me sleep.”

Inris did no such thing, sliding into Allir’s bed and whispering into his ear:

“You'd best be grateful, sucking the innkeeper’s cock got us this room.”

“That's a lie and you know it! You got on your knees and begged like a dog, now get off me!”

The resulting commotion irritated the guests in the next room, because soon the innkeeper was stomping behind them as they were escorted out the door and to the street where the pair fought again.


	5. Don't need to be fixed

Inris rubbed his swollen cheek but laughed that his ring had sliced Allir’s open. The man growled, shoving him aside on the curb as he gave himself stitches to close the wound.

“Why not use the light? Oh wait, I forgot you're reduced to a sniveling child because you get those ‘headaches’ of yours” Inris mocked him as Allir got more and more irritated that the thread he pulled from his tabard wasn't going through his skin. It was entertaining for a time, but Inris eventually got irritated himself at the way Allir held the needle, it was all wrong. 

“Stop that, before you rip your skin.” He grabbed the bone needle and chewed the thread with his teeth until it snapped, slowly undoing the stitches Allir had given himself. He hissed with pain, but Inris swatted his hands. “I am- I was a tailor, let me do it.”

The stitches weren't perfect, but much better than the mess Allir had sewn into his skin. Inris sat down across from him and discarded the bloody thread that was left over and wiped the blood off the needle. He would be keeping this, it wasn't as good as a metal one, but he wanted it anyway. Maybe he could find a job repairing the magister’s robes somewhere in the city. Both were silent. Allir got up after some time of glaring at his once partner, going down the road. With a roll of his eyes, Inris followed after him.

“Where are you going?” Allir didn't answer, just striding ahead. No matter how many questions he asked, Inris got no response at all. Allir went to the guards and begged for his old job back, but they declined. He went to the Farstriders, who outright slammed the door in his face. It seemed their hatred for the blood knights extended to former ones as well, not that Inris could blame them. The younger continued to follow, irritating Allir to no end with crude comments and quips on how the man's moral code was far too high to survive. Allir ignored him, for the most part, eventually saying that Inris didn't even know the meaning of morals. 

“And why is it you care? I'd honestly thought you'd have left me by now, but yet you remain, ever so annoyingly so to keep me out of trouble.” Inris found the way Allir stopped interesting, as if he actually struck a nerve. “Don't tell me,” Inris began to laugh. “That you actually care about me and not just making yourself look good.” Allir said nothing, but he chewed his lip, his shoulders and ears drooped, he refused to look the other in the eye. 

“You do, don't you? Oh how sad of you, head over heels for what did you say, the biggest stain upon Azeroth? I think that was it. Really now, you could do so, so much better. Or is it you think you can fix me, Allir? That you'd be a knight in shining armor, tell me ‘Now now, it's okay, Allir is going to make everything okay again’?” Inris began to mock him, leaning against a tree in one of the many gardens that had recently been planted, bringing life and color to the city again. Allir sat on the bench with his arms crossed and face burning crimson, still refusing to look at him.

“You're pathetic, that's why you dragged me out of the gutter that day isn't it? Let me tell you, Allir, I do not need to be fixed, saved, or pitied by anyone, least of all you.”

The man finally turned, glaring at his former companion who'd been trying so hard to make himself his enemy. The look of anger sent Inris's heart into a flutter of fear; Allir was much bigger than him and if he so chose, could easily hurt him. Slowly the man came to stand before him and Inris took a step back as he approached, thinking that he’d finally, after the few years they’d been with one another, pushed Allir over the edge and now was his time to pay, but the man simply walked past him, not even with a push or a shove. He was stunned. A creeping feeling began to grow the further Allir went, not even looking back for a second, and Inris tried to shove it down. 

What did he really care if Allir went? So he’d been using him to state his needs, there were plenty of foolish, too trusting, good hearted idiots in the city, and Inris could easily find another. So long as he stayed clear of Murder Row and the last crystal dealer’s territory, he would be fine- but that was when it hit him. Allir was more than just the source of his next crystal, his next bout of bloodthistle, or mana gem, he was also his protection. As the paladin tried to determine what to do next and come up with some kind of explanation of why he could possibly be feeling regret, of all things, for making his companion leave, ignoring his own feelings and that of the other, he failed to hear another come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. Inris nearly jumped out of his skin, almost slugging Vyathna in his startled flailing. The much older paladin raised an eyebrow and glanced over to Allir, who was leaving the Shepherd’s Gate. 

“Did the two of you have a falling out?” He asked. Inris nodded.

“You could say that.” 

Despite his gruff and battlescar covered appearance of that of a stern and powerful man, Inris learned quickly that Vya was about as dangerous as a child’s stuffed toy outside of battle when he invited him to stay with him and his wife. He even offered to teach Inris the techniques he learned with the other Blood Knights in secret, although both were sure it could easily result in him and his wife being tossed out of the Blood Knights just as Inris and Allir were. 

How much of a softie Vyathna was became even more evident upon seeing his expansive house outside the city; it was gorgeous and easily could hold many families comfortably but instead was filled with young children. None of which, based on the lack of resemblance, were either Vyathna or Amazil’s own blood. Inris was about to ask but as their horses rounded the path he realized upon reading the freshly painted wooden sign- He and his wife ran an orphanage, taking in those who'd lost their family in the invasion of the scourge. It was a shock that such an intimidating man who'd lost an eye and had many deep gouges across his face was being climbed like a tree by the kids that ran out to greet him the moment he stepped down from the massive horse and hung from his arms and legs begging to play. He'd almost become a different person than the times Inris had seen him while training with such fury and hard hitting strikes Vya had destroyed many a training dummy in only a few hits, reducing it to a splintered mess.

“Vya, who's that?” “Yeah he's old, is he staying with us?” “Is he taking one of us home? Please please tell me he's picking me!” 

The children's insistent questions snapped Inris out of his thoughts but Vya just shrugged them off with a laugh. 

“No, this is Inris, a friend. He'll be staying with us for a while.” The girl who'd asked if he was taking her home seemed to deflate so Vyathna got on his knees and placed his large hands on her shoulders. “Cynthara, I promise, someday someone, a nice loving family, is going to come and take you home, where they'll love and take care of you. But today isn't that day.”

The girl's eyes welled up with tears and she wrapped her skinny arms around his neck. The door opened and a woman Inris didn't recognize came out, hurrying the children in and taking the girl in her arms. The two talked before heading in, Vyathna saying he would show Inris around after Amazil helped him with the horses. As he went in, she came out with a couple of leads in hand. She didn't bother to ask why he'd come, or even why he agreed to stay, to which Inris was grateful. However she did ask about Allir. 

“We are… going our separate ways, it would seem.” She patted his shoulder with a sad smile, telling him that things would work out later on, whatever that meant. Vyathna’s tour of the house mostly consisted of tripping over hastily repaired toys about the house and watching him usher children off into their play rooms as he tried to find a clean and empty room for Inris. 

“I can settle for a mat on the floor, or perhaps a closet, I can fit as I've been told.” Inris’s joke seemed to go over the other's head while Vya piled some newer toys into a pillowcase and placed it in the hall. One of the orphans huffed about having to change rooms, but with gentle and kind words like before, he was able to convince her to go play and how much fun it would be to share with Cynthara. Really, if Inris hadn't seen first hand how Vyathna had bludgeoned an undead’s head in so hard that it's neck had been shoved into its chest, he wouldn't believe he was a fighter at all from how he acted with the children.

.

The next morning Inris woke and tried to remember his way to the kitchen to fix up a meal but found himself in another hall of rooms that belonged to the children. One of them was crying, clutching a stuffed lynx to her chest that had clearly seen better days. Just as he was about to walk away, the girl spotted him and ran over, nearly tripping over her too-long dress. 

“Mister-” Her face was dripping with tears and snot leaving Inris praying to the light she wouldn't decide to touch him. “Mister my kitty is hurt.” She held the toy up to him and indeed the poor stuffed cat was quite torn, a button eye dangling and an ear missing completely. The girl stood on her toes, shoving the toy to his chest and begging he would save oh poor Mr. Kitty and at first Inris relented, claiming he didn't have any fabric. 

The girl was almost howling with sobs after that and he tried his best to shush her and he would figure something out. Pulling the bone needle he'd used to stitch Allir up the other day, he cut apart the bottom of his tabard for a triangle of fabric to make a new ear and used the fraying fibers to reattach the brilliant green button again. After the girl showed off ‘Mr. Kitty’ and his new ear, soon he was patching up dozens of stuffed animals for their owners who threatened to cry if he did otherwise. Surely by now he was missing any breakfast that had been prepared but thankfully,, Amazil had finally come to his rescue. 

She shooed the children off downstairs to go eat, leading him back to the kitchen. Inris ate in silence, observing the children bicker over toppings spread across the table for their pancakes. He watched almost like an alien being seeing people for the first time, as all of this, the comfort of a home and friendly atmosphere, was completely alien to him now. Amazil and Vyathna washed additional plates and their mess from cooking, while the other woman, Limaele as he'd been told, scooped heaping portions of food to the restless kids. It was strange, he couldn't fathom how they put up with so many children that weren't even theirs or most of all why; it wasn't as if they were being paid. Despite the size of the house none of them appeared to be particularly wealthy either- furniture was most certainly scavenged from homes left without owners, mismatched from the home's other decorations that in its hay day must have been magnificent, now covered in wax crayon scribbles and stains. Finishing his meal, Inris dumped his plate and utensils in the basin, only to be stopped by Vya. 

“Wash them, please.” Inris was about to argue, but doing so would probably anger the enormous man. Something then occurred to him- Inris may be without the protection of Allir, who was intimidating in his own right, but Vyathna was so much more so. While Allir was huge for an elf, Vya was more so and had vicious scars across what seemed to be most of his body that really sold the image of a man no one in the right of mind would ever want to anger. There was safety in that, no one would likely challenge such an elf even without the common knowledge he was a blood knight, so Inris came to the conclusion to use that to his advantage. If he could stay with them as long as possible, be the model housemate, he would have a roof over his head, regular food, anything he would need at his disposal.


	6. Inhibitions

In the cool of the night, Inris wandered the city proper. More and more repairs were done and Silvermoon was once again looking like it used to- almost. The streets were still almost empty, and like him those who wandered them at night still carried weapons out of fear. Fear that even now, the undead could swarm the city once again and it was better to be prepared, even though guards and arcane golems stood at the only entrance to the city at all times. 

Amongst the changes to the city in its rebuilding, some places were renamed such as Murder Row. It once was the main street in Silvermoon, a grand twisted street leading up to the spire adorned with shops and vendors, now hardly tended to and riddled with crime and thievery. Guards rarely passed through here and when they did they did they rarely did anything, simply passing through. Inris thought it to be ironic that they were supposed to protect the citizens and yet adorned in gold trimmed armor and carrying a massive tower shield a guard simply walked passed a man clearly on his way to becoming wretched, lying against a signpost. 

Inris too simply carried on. His thoughts were elsewhere soon enough as he entered a nearby building, the sign so very familiar to him. As thankful as he was to the couple for giving him his space in their home there was only so much time he could spend around children. Their yelling, playing, noisy and messy habits grated on his nerves and he sought company that no one in their right mind would allow around such young impressionable minds. The Drunken Serpent had become a favorite hangout of his, plentiful with all his vices. Sex, drugs, gambling, prostitutes and dealers all came here for a good time and there was absolutely no curfew. No supervision, no rules.

Avoiding one dealer in particular, he mingled among the nightlife taking his fill of everything the bar had to offer. As much alcohol as he could drink, as many arcane crystals as he could use, as much sex and drugs and dancing as his body could handle before blacking out. Hours of the night were lost to his mind, a hazy blur that none could possibly understand. Some periods of time were blank altogether, such as how Inris managed to find himself in someone else’s home on the other side of the city.

Blinding light shined through the windows, making him squint and groan in pain. His head hurt. His chest, riddled with scratches, also hurt. As he sat up, still squinting in the afternoon light, he noted just how lavish the room was. Whomever he went home with certainly had money. Sheer curtains surrounded the bed, a lavish silk that the man noted to be from Stormwind. It was so fine that it looked less like fabric and more like a shimmering sheet of arcane magic woven by only the most skilled of mages, though it could have been infused with it. Gold trim and gold leaf adorned the twisting frame of the bed, a pure show of wealth and status. How on earth did he manage to get someone so loaded into bed with him?

Inris pushed the thought from his mind as he carefully pulled the arm slung over his waist off and began searching for his clothes. A shoe at the door, the other tossed half under the bed, his pants thrown over a lavish chair in front of an enormous desk covered in correspondence between nobles. No matter how much he searched, quietly so not to wake the still sleeping elf curled up on the bed, Inris couldn’t find his shirt anywhere. He even resorted to searching the hall but still nothing. The longer he spent here the bigger the chance of the other waking up was and so the chances of them being angry at him for whatever it was they did the previous night.

He wasn’t going to take that chance. Many nights filled with liquor and bad decisions had made the former Blood Knight well aware of the things he did when inebriated. Sex, vandalism, and many unkind words were common. The blistering hangover forming and his sore muscles would not help him in any fight come to be so he threw his tabard on as a shirt and went out the door, snagging a handful of gold from the night’s companion’s pockets. 

Evening in Silvermoon looked so different during the day, especially in the richer parts of the city. For a while, Inris simply wandered the streets, observing the homes of the elite. Huge, towering buildings decked in gold, red glass windows, and beautiful filigree with manicured gardens hanging from window boxes or floating with their latent magic astonished him. How did anyone afford this, so soon after their city was ravaged and filled with rivers of blood? He stood their gawking at one in particular, one of the former Magister’s estates. Scaffolding covered on side as the plaster was reapplied by builders much looking like he did- tired and worn, just trying to make it through life with their ripped and torn clothes. There was a sort of determination in the man as he watched them work, a determination to be the owner of one of these magnificent buildings. He would lounge about all day, holding galas in his home, eating grapes off a servant’s hand and drinking wine from diamond encrusted glasses or whatever it was the rich did all day. 

\----

Over the next few weeks he committed himself to cleaning, rising at the dreadful predawn hours to sweep and scrub crayon marks from the walls when he could be left alone. Underneath the exterior of a perfect housemate was still the same sinister being he was. While taking out the trash, he checked underneath the flower pot at the door and found a sizeable arcane crystal, left by Inris’ new provider. A grin crossed his face, such a crystal for anyone else would have held nearly a month’s worth of power but as of late for him it was only enough to state his need for a day or two at most. It was still better than nothing, the bloodthistle that had been growing beside as tree just outside the orphanage’s fence was long since gone- Inris blamed it upon rabbits.

The reaction from Amazil, who tended an expansive garden on the eastern side of the house, was more than enough entertainment as she dug up any rabbit holes she saw and chased out the vermin even as the children begged her not to hurt the furry little things that now resided in a hutch in the shade where the kids could watch and observe them. Occasionally Inris himself would pluck one from the cage and hold the trembling creature in his arms to roughly pat it's silky fur like one would a cat. How did these things even survive the woods full of lynxes, dragonhawks, and free roaming hawkstriders without going extinct long ago, he wondered as he put the creature back into the cage. The rabbit bit him on the hand, drawing much more blood than was expected of something spending it's days feasting on vegetables and Amazil’s precious flowerbeds. For a brief moment Inris considered not bothering to heal the wound, but the risk of losing a finger to infection was not something he'd like to deal with.

The raven haired elf drew a deep breath as his mind screamed from the Naaru the Blood knights kept captive deep in Silvermoon cried out in protest as his skin stitched itself back together. It hurt more than the bite did, but at least he was no longer bleeding. A nearby clatter of the gardening tools made him nearly jump out of his skin and Inris grabbed the rusted rake, raised and ready to be used as a weapon of needed. Rather than a person, or worse a wandering scourge, it was another rabbit trapped in the corner and trying to flee away from him but it got caught up in the tools. Inris figured it must have gotten loose when he'd opened the hutch. With a shrug and not a second thought the paladin put it in with the others and forgot about it for a few weeks, until a dejected Amazil began yelling from outside caused many of the loosely knit group to come outside and see what the issue was. Apparently the rabbit he'd forgotten about was not the same sex as the others abound they'd begun breeding, much to Amazil’s dismay as now there were dozens more of the vermin in their care. 

When asked he denied all wrong doing, but the way his lips curled had her chasing him about threatening to clip off his horsetail with a pair of shears.


	7. Everything is Temporary

The time that had passed he saw many of the children come and go. The city was fairly well reconstructed on the right half and families were beginning to form again, several of the children finding new homes and packing up their belongings, giving teary goodbyes and promises to visit. Inris watched from the top of the stairs, standing behind the banister as Cynthara clinged to the leg of her new mother and father in her best clothes. The dress was still too long but when word that a couple was interested in adopting her Inris had done his best to hem it so she no longer tripped when she ran and repaired the stitching long since worn out from her adventures in the garden. A smile crossed his face when she said something unheard to her new parents, still signing the paperwork and she darted up the stairs. He thought she’d simply forgotten something like one of her toys or her hat as the weather was rather chilly with the coming of winter but to Inris’s surprise the girl wrapped herself around his legs in a hug as tight as she could muster. 

He was shocked, staring down at her in surprise for a minute before he pried her off of him and knelt down to return the hug. She thanked him endlessly for the dress, claiming it was the reason she’d finally found a home. 

“I doubt it’s that. Go now, don’t keep them waiting.” He laughed softly and sat on the stair. Cynthara looked back at him as she went down, one hand clinging to the railing she could just barely reach. 

“Can I come back and visit you?” She asked but how could he say no, after all the nights and early mornings he spent cleaning to find her wandering after a nightmare or trying to get herself a glass of water from the sink she couldn’t reach, bringing the girl back to her room and tucking her into bed? 

“Of course you can, it’d rip my heart to pieces if you didn’t.” The girl smiled and soon she was off. Inris himself went outside through the back and stood in the shade of the rabbit hutch. His fingers carefully rolled bloodthistle into a cigar paper and he smoked, watching the rabbits do whatever it was they did all day. He smiled as he watched the younger ones approach him as much as they could, sniffing him through the chicken wire. They weren’t at all afraid of him like the adults were, who leaped and kicked even when he was simply refilling their water. He knelt down to rip up a handful of grass, the blades he shoved through the wire and watched the rabbits happily munch it down. 

A door slamming caught his attention and he turned, watching Amazil stomp across the yard and hop the small fence at the edges of the property. Curiosity got the better of Inris as he followed behind her, making no effort to hide himself. The woman eventually came up to a tree and rested her back against it as she pulled a flask from her pocket. Inris’ eyes widened as she drank nearly the whole thing in one gulp.

“I didn’t peg you as a drinker, nevermind one who hides it.” He stepped forward and had to refrain from laughing aloud at her nearly dropping the flask in her startle. She must not have seen or heard him and the reason why became evident as he got closer. She was crying, the little makeup she wore running down her face. Instant panic set off all the alarms in Inris’ mind, he was going to give the woman hell for drinking without him, but her being upset completely shifted that. If he teased now, the rational part of him reminded, it could have him thrown out of their house and once again off on his own. Unsure of what to do he stared in bewilderment, even more so when she handed the flask to him and slid to the ground, patting the spot next to her.

So he sat, taking his own swig of the liquor. Amazil attempted to hold back a sob and rubbed her face while he stupidly sat there, saying and doing nothing. Trying to find the words, he made vague gestures with his hands a moment, finally cracking a joke, not that it helped.

“Well, if you were that attached to the girl, you should have adopted her yourself, I’d say.” Amazil sobbed again and for a moment he thought he’d broken her with those simple words into hysterical crying. Oh how his confusion grew when he realized she was laughing instead of breaking into tears. 

“No, no this,” She motioned to her face and half heartedly wiped snot from dripping down her nose. “This has nothing to do with her, though I am sad to see her go.” Before he could even ask, Amazil began to explain. As she spoke his eyes went wide and color drained from his face, but part of him was somewhat glad she was confiding in him. 

For the longest time the two were silent when Amazil finished speaking; Inris staring ahead for a while even as he wordlessly handed the flask back to the Blood Knight. She snorted, draining it of every last drop.

“By the fucking Sunwell, I would need a drink too after learning of that.” Inris again, was trying not to laugh when he finally spoke. Both burst into laughter when she pulled yet another flask out of her belt, one embossed with her husband’s name and crest on the front. 

“His liquor? Well, I say he deserves it.” Inris waited until the woman had already taken a good sized gulp of it for herself to take his own. 

“The worst part is, he had the nerve to say it was a good thing!” Amazil still sniffled, but she was smiling now. 

“A good thing? How on…. He cheated on you with your own employee and knocked her up, all behind your back!” Amazil threw up her hands to the sky, exclaiming a loud ‘Thank you!’ as she began to howl with laughter.

“He thinks that just because I can’t have children, that he can go around, sticking his dick in whoever he pleases until he finally gets one, it’s ridiculous!” The rest of her words faded out from Inris’ mind, despite her continuing to rant and rave about her cheating husband. He tried to go through the mental hoops that Vyathana must have to justify himself- Him and his wife ran an orphanage, taking in and caring for dozens of children without homes or family that adored them, yet he chose to impregnate another woman rather than take one of those children already looking up to them as family? 

No, Inris concluded, it may be the excuse he was using, but there was no truth to that. There couldn’t be, it just didn’t make any sense. He was simply trying to cover his ass on why he was the cheating filth he was. Amazil smacked his arm and he snapped back to her attention, having been lost in thought passing the flask back and forth. 

“I actually think it may be a good thing for us though, I like Limaele, and if it keeps Vya at my side by him having another woman, so be it.” Amazil offered him a smile but he could see the pain in her eyes. She didn’t really mean that and they both knew it. Amazil was trying to justify it to herself; she seemed to love the life she had. Working among the Blood Knights with her husband as her partner, coming home to a house full of kids who adored them, the power and status to do what others could not and piece families back together. It was the dream of some people to be half as upstanding as she and her husband were. Half as valuable and loved by so many, yet her husband’s selfishness was tearing it away.

The revelation changed how Inris behaved around the pair. He grew closer with Amazil over the months that followed, as winter set about. She even gave him a gift come Winterveil, that flask they shared on that day in the woods. His name engraved into it, but she was unable to remove the family crest still on it, her and Vyathana’s crest. She had apologized for that multiple times yet he explained he found it funny, as if saying he was a part of her family now. Over the time as he and her grew closer, to be great friends and sparring partners, Vyathana grew antagonistic to Inris, even as he was supposed to be caring for his pregnant mistress. 

Passing him in the hall one day, Inris suddenly felt blistering pain in his side and head, and half his vision blocked by the wall. A large arm pinned him to it and he struggled to turn and see who it was. His first thought would have been an intruder of some kind. To his surprise it was Vyathana bruising his back while he shoved him against the wall and he held a blade in his hand.

“What are you doing?” He growled at Inris, who in his fear parroted it back. 

“You stay away from my wife.”

Amazil? Inris laughed, eyeing the blade. 

“What?” 

Vya gripped the back of his shirt, tugging him back then shoved him into the wall once more. Inris grunted in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and only opened them again when Vya grew in close, whispering a threat into his ear.

“If you think even for a second that you can weasle your way into her bed without me knowing, I will cut your throat, Inris.” 

He laughed at the absurdity of it all, earning him a jab to the back. Vya spun him around and his arm was cocked, ready to strike him but Inris’ words stopped him. 

“Are you thick in the head?” He was fully prepared to be hit, his hands raised to cover his face and eyes squeezed shut, but when the hit didn’t come, Inris continued talking. “R-really, you think that I, of all people, would be trying to get myself into bed with your wife? She is lovely, really, but women have never been my fancy.” 

The brick house of an elf gave him an incredulous look and Inris could see the cogs turning in his mind as he tried to process the information. His grip loosened and Inris slowly took a step back and then another. Vyathana didn’t seem to notice and like a coward Inris ran off, leaving the man there in the hall confused.

\--

Since Vyathana had nearly fought him, Inris spent more and more time with the man’s disgruntled wife. She didn’t yet know about the fight that nearly broke out and he played on that any time Vya came near him. The sadistic look Inris gave him, teasing tones carrying across his voice as he would turn to Amazil, claiming he had something to tell her. He enjoyed it, watching a flicker of fear in Vyathana’s eyes when he thought he would be tattled on. Brute strength was never one of Inris’ strong suits, but trickery and manipulation was. He intended to play on having this one small foothold over the man as long as possible. 

As he wandered the overly large building in the middle of the night, picking up stray toys, Inris mulled over what he would do. This would not last forever, eventually Vyathana would tire of this. That or his wife would come to her senses and divorce him, which despite the former Blood Knight telling her to do so, she hadn’t heeded his advice. In his mind, the longer this was drawn out the higher risk of it ending badly there was.

The irony of it all that essentially, he had done the same to Allir, was not wasted on him. He sank down into a chair after tossing the pile of toys into a basket and rubbed his face with a calloused hand. Sleep hadn’t come easy the past few weeks. His head hurt with the dull ache he was so familiar with, skin crawling and itching constantly. The familiar gnaw in the bit of his stomach no amount of food could ever quiet and itch in his throat water could never quench. At times like this, when his need for magic could not be stated, his mind always drifted to Allir. He missed the oaf who never seemed to care he was being used, time and time again feeding his habit in exchange for false flirtations and quick bouts of sex. 

Months passed, spring turning to summer and summer to fall- the seasonal changes really only marked as passiny by as days on the calender up in the north. In the Ghostlands, where the elves’ magic waned and grew weak from the lack up upkeep it was surely felt that it would be winter soon. Inris tagged along with the pair of Blood Knights, following behind with Limaele on his hawkstrider and keeping an eye out. This far south was always full of Scourge, few dared to wander here alone. 

Small incursions were sent further and further south these days, in efforts to reclaim the many towns and villages lost when Arthas ravaged their lands. Already, the magisters had a small foothold in the ruins of Tranquillien, some boldly proclaiming that they may reclaim Windrunner Spire any day now. The paladin couldn’t help but bitterly think of how fruitless that effort would be- there was no one worth reclaiming it for. Sylvannas was dead, Alleria gone, Vereesa abandoned their people for the Alliance that betrayed them in their time of need- why would reclaiming it even matter other than clinging to nostalgia of a time long since passed?

Even so, keeping a keen eye out for anything skittering around in these dark depressing woods Inris made light conversation with the heavily pregnant woman at his side. Their hushed voices some small attempt to stay hidden, even if it was for naught. Amazil and Vyathana’s bickering ahead ruined all attempts for them to stay concealed as it was. 

“If they don’t shut up, they’re going to get us all killed.” Limaele sighed and Inris himself so, she did have some sense after all. He still had a bad taste in his mouth for her situation, hypocritical as it may be, that she still pursued Vya but he had to feel for her just a bit. What else were she to do, other than that? Too pregnant to defend herself now, without that man she had no coin or roof over her head. Still, the pain and horrid truths she brought forth about him, it pained Amazil to have to face. He felt a great pity for the woman who had become his closest friend in these months, often times when dealing with her unfaithful husband was too much to bear she would come and share his room with him for the night, confiding in him her deepest fears of losing him and her way of life. 

“I believe you’re right, but it’s not as if you can turn back now. There’s not much I can do if we get ambushed alone.” It was a bitter truth. One, maybe two he could take on safely but any more than that and it would be his own life or hers that he would have to choose between saving. If Inris chose his own, he knew that Vyathana would never forgive him, no matter the circumstances. Surely, he would beat him to death if anything happened to his mistress.

Limaele remained quiet for a long while, Inris himself having nothing more to say as they listened. Vyathana was trying to talk about names for the baby with Amazil, trying to get her to approve. By the way she refused to listen and conceal her growing tears, he’d have better luck with a wall. 

“You must think awful of me.” Her words, barely above the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, caught Inris’ attention. In truth, he did, in some aspects. The woman must have known it to be wrong to do this to Amazil, to be stealing away her husband like this. Even so, he still felt for her. What else was she to do at this point.

He grumbled under his breath in reply, having no words either for consoling her or giving advice. It wasn’t his place to be involved. Carrying on he followed the small party, keeping an eye out as they walked in silence behind the two continuing to bicker. By now some undead were following them, but none that posed any threat. A torso detached from its legs, moaning and its hands devoid of any flesh, crawling along the ground some distance behind them, no doubt awoken by the noise, was the most dangerous thing they’d encountered so far and it was quickly falling behind as its guts trailed from its body, getting caught up on a fence. Whoever would pass it next could simply just bash in its skull with their boot and put it out of its misery. Tranquillien, a town once so well known to Inris, yet he hadn’t visited in years, was coming on the horizon. 

At the very least, by nightfall they could rest.


End file.
